


Bump in the Night

by FairyTrashMother



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassination, Character Death, Its short and weird like the author, Supernatural Elements, Violence, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyTrashMother/pseuds/FairyTrashMother
Summary: Humans love to tell stories about what lives in the dark. Humans really haven't scratched the surface of what's lurking out there.-Originally posted to my tumblr. Please don't re-post anywhere.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	Bump in the Night

He sat staring at the file that lay open on his desk. It took planning, taking a life, and there were always risks associated, but the pay made it all worth it. It wasn’t what he dreamed of being when he was young and full of hope, but life was unfair and chance was cruel. 

Karl ran a scarred hand across his face as he sat back in his chair, his eyes tracking towards the open window of his Yukon home. He was getting old for this sort of work, felt the ache in his bones, could see the gray starting to creep into his dark brown hair. He’d retire soon, he told himself. He had money, and this job would give him enough to retire well. He didn’t need fancy cars or gold watches, but a hot tub on the deck of his remote home might be nice. Perhaps a few more acres around his home, adding to his range. 

Pushing his chair back from his desk, he stood and rolled his enormous shoulders. He’d worked enough today putting plans into place, and now he’d earned himself a good, long stretch in the woods. 

~*~*~*~

Troy Bouchard sat white knuckled in his driveway, jaw tense, as he took a final, long look at his home. It was palatial, and he was damn proud of it. He’d earned this house, earned his money. Yes, he was cutthroat, yes he’d expected to make enemies, to create upset and outrage, but this was the world of today. You fought and clawed for what you wanted, everyone else be damned. If they wanted to win, they should have worked harder. 

But no, he’d made enemies, enemies who’d put out a goddamn hit on him. The police had watched his home and his office for weeks, seen nothing, and now they had patrol passing his home three times a day and had blown the threats off as just angry people making idle threats. They insisted they’d follow up. He didn’t buy it. 

But idle threats and paranoia aside, he’d felt eyes on him for weeks. He’d heard movement outside his house at night, heard strange, terrifying sounds in the dark when he walked to his car after work. He knew it was for real. So now, because those goddamn cops weren’t going to take him seriously, he’d handle this himself. He’d get out of town, spend money on private security, and make damn sure that the fuckers who made him leave his own home payed dearly. 

Throwing his car into reverse, he sped out of his driveway, his sleek and expensive car accelerating smoothly, he began to plot. Its not like they had the resources he did. He could make this a war of attrition, make himself so hard to find that the price went up and up, and they couldn’t afford his blood. He could hire his own people. Hell, he could probably find who they’d hired and pay him off himself. He had the money. 

Breathing a little easier as he watched the odometer tick slowly hire, Troy flicked on the radio. He’d call it a vacation, tell the shareholders there was nothing to worry about. He’d spend some time in his summer cabin. Unwind. And by the time this was all over, he’d come back swinging, make sure everybody knew better than to cross him.

~*~*~*~

Karl sat at the counter of the only small diner in the only small town near his target’s cabin. Men like Troy Bouchard were not hard to track. His car was loud, his stride was loud, his voice was loud. Karl could hear him, even with his back turned, as Bouchard snapped at his waitress. Karl chewed his pie thoughtfully. He wasn’t a particularly principled man but it did take some of the edge off to know what kind of man he’d be killing. Apparently that kind was a real dick. 

Karl waited until his quarry left before finishing his pie and ambling outside. He left a more than decent tip, assuming that Bouchard was probably also a piss-poor tipper. Karl wasn’t a particularly principled man, and he may be a killer for hire, even he knew better than to stiff his waitress, especially in a small town.

Breathing the crisp Northern air, Karl began to amble his way up the road in the opposite direction from the one Bouchard had gone. A glance at the sky showed the autumn sun shifting towards the horizon. He had time to get there and get ready before Bouchard came home for the night. 

~*~*~*~

Troy sat on the couch of his cabin, foot tapping anxiously. He didn’t like the quiet. He had the cabin because it was a thing to do, because it looked impressive, sounded impressive to say he had one. It had all the tech he needed, all the channels, and a stereo system that cost more than what most people’s lives were worth, but all that couldn’t cover the quiet. Sure, he realized he could sleep with music playing, but that would cover the sounds of someone creeping up on him, and he not ready to go down without a fight. So he’d sleep in the oppressive silence of the wilderness, with a gun by the side of his bed, and he’d survive into the morning.

Careful to keep from exposing his full body to the windows he made the rounds, peeking outside while he drew the curtains. Nothing stirred in the silvery patches of moonlight he could see outside his summer home. Nothing but the wind. It should have been a relief, but the interminable waiting wound him tighter. He was a man of wit and action. He was not built for these primitive waiting games, and it grated on on him that he was on the run like prey. He was a predator damnit! He was the man who always came out on top! Thumb skittering over the safety of his rifle, he promised himself he would still come out on top. 

~*~*~*~

Troy snapped into wakefulness moments later. Was it moments? He wasn’t sure. The moon still shone through a crack in the curtains of his bedroom. He sat up slowly, reaching for the gun by his feet, when he heard it again-a branch snapping outside his window. Except that the shadows of the leaves in moonlight that patterned his floor weren’t moving. If there was no breeze- Something cracked again. Snatching up the gun, Troy thumbed the safety and pointed the rifle at the window. If someone was out there, they’d pay dearly for crossing him. 

Something else snapped. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard this sound before, but it was different. Less like wood, almost wrong, almost-SNAP. It reminded him suddenly, vividly, of hearing a cousin’s bone break when he jumped off the roof after a snow storm into a drift that hadn’t been as deep as he thought. SNAP. Troy felt the hair on his arms rise. SNAP. This time it came with a sound like a moan. SNAP. They were coming faster now, strange, inhuman sounds rumbling from somewhere outside his back door. CRUNCH. Troy crept closer to the window, parting the curtain ever so slight with a finger.

A shape on the tree line contorted grotesquely as it lumbered forward. It looked like a man, but the arms and legs were too long. He was naked and covered in hard hair. As he stepped into the light, the bones of his face seemed to break, elongate. The shambling creature let out a bellow that had him dropping the gun and fleeing for the front door before he could thing. He was a CEO, made for cunning and planning, for logic and rational thought. He was also prey, and he knew it. Making it he unlocked it with the fob, had it started before he got there, and jammed the key into the ignition with shaking fingers. He heard his breath coming in gasps as the creature bellowed again, staggering around the edge of the house as it fell to all fours and continued to reshape itself, and he wasted no time in slamming the pedal to the floor of the car. His friends had joked that he’d never need this kind of pickup in the city, but for once he was grateful for it. 

Shooting down the road away from his cabin he barely slowed for the turns. Traffic cops be damned, he was getting out of here one way or another, going back to the city where there were people, where there were cops to call, where there would be witnesses, where they could call the goddamn army in on this thi-

The creature stepped out on the road, finishing its shift. He didn’t even have time to scream.

~*~*~*~

Karl moaned as he pulled his body off of what was left of Troy Bouchard’s car. He ached, would have bruises for weeks, and probably had some fractured ribs. He was definitely getting too old for this. Righting himself on four legs he stumbled to the driver’s window and listened with shifter hearing for breath. There was none. Probably dead on impact. Not that it mattered, but it was certainly easier when it was clean like this. He began to limp away, considering how many jets he’d need for his hot tub.

The file had requested no trace of foul play, and that was Karl’s specialty. 

~*~*~*~

Detective Sarah Pritchard sighed as the cold and misty morning air was shattered by the sound of rending metal as the firefighters worked to cut open the crumpled roof of the sports car. It wasn’t uncommon, she thought, but it was always unnecessary. If he’d driven reasonably, with his brights on, this would have been completely avoidable. And really, who drove such a low and fragile car out here? This was moose country. She sipped her coffee and tried not to look too hard at what was left of the car. She just hoped that wherever he was, the poor moose was ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cO2UWlff4s&ab_channel=ESLandPopularCulture) is what I a moose sounds like

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos always welcome. You can find me on tumblr @cephalopodvictorious


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